What My Mother Doesn't Know

We all know that mothers worry about their children.

"Is he eating okay?"
"Is she warm enough?"
"Should they be going there at night?"
"Don't do that, you'll go blind!"

Whether substantiated and reasonable (or not), this dynamic causes many a son and daughter to hide the delicate secrets of their life for the sake of our mothers' sanity (the awful truth). Thankfully, this scandalous piece of blog-posting will finally shed light on all the misgivings my mother had about me going to Kenya. In that vein, I dedicate this post to my mother. Sure, she worries - and here's why...


The Early Troubles

My first inklings of trouble came at Week 3. Mysterious flu-like symptoms began to appear. Even more, I had a stiff back and constant congestion. Knowing my weak immune system, I decided to check it out at the local hospital worried that I might have malaria.

Blood tests were taken and a virus was diagnosed the culprit. The aches were a function of my mattress. I was misdiagnosed a bunch of symptom-treating medications and then released.


Journeying to work

Having already described the matatus, I thought I would give you an idea of my journey to my work. The most striking part of walking up to the road is this:



I live next to a garbage dump.

Garbage dumps are haphazardly strewn about the local communities, as there is no municipal waste management service. Beautiful plots of land become grazing sites for cows and goats that feast upon the household and commercial wastes of Mombasa. These same cows and goats are the ones that are butchered for meat and eaten. It sometimes makes me question where my lunch came from.


Dehydration

Dehydration really takes its toll on you here. It's an ever-present prospect by virtue of the climate and the close-quarters involved in our work. Forgetting my water bottle has inspired moments of disappointment in myself, knowing I will necessarily have to purchase much more throughout the day. With that in mind, an example of the close-quarters that inspire dehydration is a photo of one of the local internet cafes I frequent. It's a room that is too small with five people sitting in it, but routinely fits ten-plus.




Police

Police here are not a real danger. Merely, they will detain you until they can finagle a bribe from a passing motorist. On the way to Malindi, a town two-and-a-half hours away, we were pulled over no less than three times for routine shake downs. Each time, our way forward was facilitated by a calm exchange of one or two hundred shillings.




Beards

The glory of my Africa beard knows no bounds. It is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. Enticing women is one thing, but sometimes a man gets tired of constant flirting and the like. I mean, how can one be so dastardly attractive yet so ruggedly handsome? A truly lethal combination.




That was all facetious FYI.


I just figured it was just something else my mom didn't want to hear...